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Sliding Doors

I have a confession to make…

For the first time, in a long time, I spent the weekend
doing little else than relaxing and being mindful. This included an hour long ramble along the beach (taking in the
big blue North Norfolk sky) and a lovely Sunday lunch at the White Horse in Overstrand.

As we were finishing our meal, a mother came in with a child
in a bulky pushchair and ordered a coffee. She caught my attention because she looked so like my youngest sister.

Expecting an entourage to follow her in, it became apparent
that she was alone and would be partaking in one of those adult moments that I'vespoken about before.

Unfortunately, it never materialised for her.
The next time I looked over was when the contents of the pushchair started
wailing and the mother was hastily bundling her adult paraphernalia back on
board. She looked over at me, with a crumpled and exhausted face and said “I’ve
only just got him off to sleep”.

“Oh no!” I cried, with the empathy of all Mothers, and househusbands,
who understand the exhaustion and stress of a demanding dependant.

I paused, and then darted out of the pub after her, seeing
her disappearing ahead of me. Just before she did, I saw her pick up the handle
of the pushchair and let it drop down hard – I could imagine in anger and frustration.

At this point, I ran after her and begged her to come back
to the pub. Telling her I understood how she felt and how awful it is when you
are on your own, with a baby, on a weekend, when all around are with friends
and family.

“Please come back, let’s go and sit in the garden. If your
baby cries, it won’t seem as intrusive as it feels indoors, when you think that
everyone hates the noise. Besides, it’s an enclosed garden, with a slide, I
think, and baby might enjoy the fresh air – he might even fall asleep later,
leaving you a bit more ‘adult time’. Please?” I begged.

You see, I remember the feeling that I knew she was
feeling. I remember seeing my friends and family feeling this way too. I
remember us all being driven to breaking point, not knowing how to get over it
and then feeling the guilt, when eventually we did.

The first time this happened to me, was when eldest baby
giant (EBG) was about ten months old. Our first family holiday, in an exquisite
hotel on the Sardinian coast (the final time that the cost would be covered by my successful pre-baby career!) Completely out of
character, EBG didn’t settle, the baby monitor reception didn't ‘stretch’ to
the Refined Hotel Restaurant, I was
exhausted and distraught.

A bad mother (for wanting this bit of dressy-uppy adult
time) and a bad wife (for being a tear stained, miserable wreck) – who had been
stupid enough to think that this holiday would be as relaxing and refreshing as
those taken BC. In short, a failure!

These emotions aside, it was LSG, and the entire Refined Hotel Restaurant staff, to the
rescue. Clearing the way to bring baby and bulky pushchair to our table, EBG
was whisked around the clucking and adoring Sardinian brigade. I couldn’t relax
completely; I was of course feeling the guilt of the world’s most inadequate
mother.

Plus, it was just over two years since the disappearance of Ben Needhamand for that reason, my
eyes never left our beautiful blond, blue eyed boy, who was now wide awake and
laughing and gurgling with the attention.

So, back to the present, and our Sunday afternoon was filled
with returning this favour to this current day end-of-her-tether mother.

Well, that’s my confession. It didn’t happen.

Not from the dropping of the pushchair and from the inward
gasp I made at seeing this display of her raw desperation. I did rush after
her, but it was too late when I did. I’d faltered too long and she had
disappeared. My reticent, non-intrusive southern upbringing had engulfed my
friendly, helpful northern genes.

Ever since, I have played the ‘might have been’ scene over
and over in my mind – but I can’t change the ending. The thoughts of what might
have happened behind the closed front door of a frustrated and lonely mother,
haunt me.

2 comments:

I read the blog and wonder if we all have one of those "if only" moments when you KNOW that, with a bit more confidence and assertiveness, you could have made all the difference to someone's day.

Mine was when I went to Cafe Nero in TW - may favrouite coffee shop in the post-children-started-school phase because it had a quiet area upstairs that you could look up to through a hole in the ceiling which seemed like the holy grail when I was pram-ridden. Anyhow, when I was finally untethered that was where I would go for mid-shopping coffee and sit-down.

One day there was the stereotypical frazzled mother, fractious child strapped in pram but clearly planning and half-hour reprieve, ordering a coffee for herself and treat for child. Ready to pay, she held out her credit card. For some reason at that time (don't know details) they didn't accept the card - perhaps she wasn't spending enough??? Her face crumpled, she didn't have the cash. It still haunts me today - why can't we let go of these things - why I didn't step forward. For what must have been less than a fiver, I could have made her day, and my heart would sing and the fact!!!